The world changes, the photograph remains

Pentti Sammallahti is a Finnish photographer whose work is largely done in the remote (even for Finland) area where he lives. His statement (above) to galleryist Peter Fetterman resonates with me. It describes in one short sentence why I have been dabbling about with a series that I call "The History that we Live With". This began a couple of years ago when I was asked to curate an exhibit for the Highline Heritage Museum in Burien. It occurred to me that there were things that we ignore as we walk or drive by every day that are "history" -- not the three centuries old history from a European city but history none the less -- things that I should photograph before they vanish. Since then I have kept my eye open for such things -- the corner store, the microwave towers for long-distance telephone,

A few weeks ago I needed to get a shoe repaired. The hole-in-the-wall shoe repair shop on the main drag in Burien vanished several years ago. Professor Google told me that there was one in Federal Way (closed last year), one in Wallingford, one in Issaquah, and one in West Seattle (Admiral Shoe Repair) -- the latter being close by I started there. Mr. Ahn's shop is a wonderfully cluttered small shop with equipment that includes an industrial-strength Singer sewing machine that I suspect is a century old. (more on that later). His response to my needed repair "I'll have it ready Saturday." I asked him if I could take some photographs of him and his shop when I returned and he said yes. I suspect that he regarded me as a nutcase of some kind (but harmless).

Mr. Ahn's Singer sowing machine reminded me -- several (ahem) years ago Photographic Center Northwest announced an upcoming workshop with Bruce Davidson -- whose work I admire very much. I signed up for it and found that it required some homework before the event. I was to make contact with someone I had never met that was doing something interesting and photograph him or her doing it -- and then return with some prints. On my way to catch a bus home I noticed an open door in an old, seemingly abandoned building. I looked in and saw a large room full of heavy duty sewing machines and antique furniture. A craftsman was busily working on restoring a lovely old writing desk. I wandered in and asked him if I could photograph him at work. I got the notion that he was glad for some company. He, Silas, told me that the sewing machines (and the building) belonged to his boss whose business was repairing and reselling industrial sewing machines. Restoring antique furniture was a sideline and he had been doing so for several years. So I photographed as we chatted and I told him that I would return in a few days with some prints.

The few days passed and I dropped by to give him prints -- and he wasn't there. I found a peep hole in one of the painted-over windows and looked in. The room was empty -- no sewing machines, no furniture, no craftsman. The Davidson workshop was cancelled because not enough people signed up so I guess the world decided I didn't need to see Silas again.

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And now for a cheap laugh. I've been intending to do this for several years -- happened to drive by with a couple of frames left on a roll of 2 1/4.